Authors: Chad Oliver
When
they
reached
the
ledge,
no
one
spoke.
The people
there
looked
at
him
curiously,
neither
hostile nor
friendly.
They
seemed
to
be
waiting.
Waiting
for what?
Mark
soon
found
out.
From
one
of
the
caves
there
came
an
eerie,
high-pitched
whistle.
This
was
repeated
six
times,
and
then there
was
a
sort
of
chant,
delivered
in
a
rather
high, rhythmical
voice.
Mark
could
make
no
sense
out
of
the chant,
although
he
thought
he
caught
a
familiar
word now
and
then,
mixed
in
between
strings
of
singsong syllables
that
were
to
all
intents
and
purposes
meaningless.
Finally,
the
chant
stopped.
There
was
a
complete,
hushed
silence.
Out
of
the
mouth
of
the
cave,
through
the
black shadows
of
evening,
danced
a
painted
man.
Mark
did not
move.
The
man
came
toward
him
in
a
strange,
dancing motion.
He
hopped
first
on
one
foot
for
six
steps,
then on
the
other
for
six
steps.
As
he
danced,
his
hands
and arms
writhed
like
snakes
and
his
head
bobbed
forward and
backward
as
though
disconnected
from
his
body. Even
in
the
fading
dead
light
of
evening,
the
colors
of his
body
were
startling.
Arms,
legs,
face,
chest,
back— the
man
was
completely
covered
with
brilliant
paints. The
paint
was
striped
in
thin
series
of
sixes,
each
series composed
of
red,
brown,
black,
white,
gray,
and
green. Shells
and
ornaments
of
bone
and
ivory
adorned
the painted
man
as
necklaces,
arm
bracelets,
and
leg
rattles.
They
clicked
and
whirred
together
with
the
motion
of
his
body,
and
in
the
silence
they
reminded Mark
of
nothing
so
much
as
the
warning
whirrrr
of
a rattlesnake.
The
man
was
frightening,
but
Mark
was
not
as
unnerved
as
he
would
have
been
had
he
not
seen
similar painted
men
before.
He
knew
the
grotesque
dancer coming
toward
him
was
much
the
same
sort
of
official as
the
Neanderthal
with
the
red
band
on
his
forehead had
been.
He
was
a
type
of
person
that
Doctor
Nye
had often
discussed
with
him,
a
type
of
person
he
himself had
seen
among
the
Indians.
He
was
a
shaman,
popularly
known
as
a
witch
doctor.
Knowing
these
facts
was
helpful.
It
changed
the
oncoming
dancer
from
a
supernatural
horror
to
an
understandable
human
being,
one
who
could
be
dealt
with. But
it
did
not
change
the
fact
that
Mark
was
skating on
very
thin
ice
and
had
to
watch
his
step.
Knowing that
the
painted
man
was
a
shaman
did
not
dispose
of him—and
shamans
could
be
dangerous.
Shamans
had
the
power
of
life
or
death.
A
lot
depended
on
the
individual,
as
always.
In
common
with
other
professional
people,
a
shaman
was
a human
being
first
and
a
witch
doctor
afterward.
They were
sometimes
insane,
sometimes
subject
to
fits,
sometimes
not.
Is
the
driver
of
a
car
dangerous?
It
depends on
who
the
driver
is,
and
where
you
happen
to
be. The
painted
man
was
completely
unknown
to
Mark;
he was
an
X
factor.
What
should
he
do?